The Return
by GatorGurl94
Summary: Post 9X23 drabble. Dean wakes up. Contains spoilers!


_There is one story about Cain that I might have forgotten to tell you. Apparently, he too was willing to accept death rather than becoming the killer the Mark wanted him to be. So he took his own life with the blade and died. Except as rumor has it the mark was not never quite ready to let go._

It's not what he thought it would be. He thought there would be turmoil, agony as his soul fought the darkness. But there isn't.

_Listen to me Dean Winchester. What you're feeling right now is not death. It's life. A new kind of life. Open your eyes, Dean. See what I see. Feel what I feel. Let's go take a howl at that moon._

Nothing. No fear. No regret. He sits up slowly. His soul may be intact but his body is definitely worse for wear. Sore and tired, but nothing compared to how he'd felt as Metratron pummeled him, as he plunged the angel blade into his chest. This is nothing.

He's alive. _It's life. A new kind of life._

The mark was not quite ready to let go…not ready to let go of Cain who became a Knight of Hell.

Knight of Hell. Demon.

"You ready then, Dean?"

Dean sits glued to the bed. I am alive; I'm a demon.

Bitterness bites at the back of his throat. He had KNOWN. Known the moment he accepted Alastair's offer. Known as he sliced and slaughtered his way through Purgatory. He had known this was how it would end. He swallows the ball of wire lodged in his throat. He had fought so hard to hold on. Yet here he is -the thing he always feared he would become. Everything he'd done and endured, it meant nothing. Crowley had played him. Dean had let him. All those years ago, he'd chastised Sam, punished him over and over for fucking Ruby. Here he'd bent right over and let Crowley screw him too. The bitterness blossoms into full blown rage. 0-60 just like that. Dean feels the corners of his mouth twist into a menacing leer.

"The only howling you'll be doing is from the rack." His voice is rough and foreign, at first he's not even sure he's the one saying the words.

"Dean, Dean, Dean." Crowley snickers. "We're not back to all that are we?"

"I promised you, I would kill you. I plan on keeping on that promise." Dean doesn't know where the conviction, the absolute control comes from. He has never felt so sure. Never felt so absolutely certain, he'll make good on his promise. He is still clutching the blade. "You and I-we're done."

Crowley's smile collapses into an annoyed frown. "I understand this has all been a bit of shock. I'll forgive your insolence." He regards Dean disappointedly. "You know where to find me."

Suddenly, Dean is alone. Dean is alone and he is a demon.

"Crowley you bastard! You fix this goddamn it!"

Sam.

The certainty he'd felt seconds before evaporates completely.

The room is dark, but Dean has no problem spotting Sam. He's huddled against a set of metal shelves, nearly empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. All he wants to do is reach out. If Dean could, he'd scoop him up. Hold onto him the way he rarely did, out of stubbornness and fear. But Dean knows better. He knows he can't do more than take a few steps into the room, not anymore. Sam wipes his face with his sleeve. What is left of Dean's non-beating heart breaks.

"Sam." It's nothing but a whisper. Sam's head jerks wildly in his direction.

Dean can read every emotion is his brother's contorting face. Disbelief. Denial. Suspicion.

Sam is on his feet; knife in hand. Dean fully expects him to charge and is surprised when Sam does no such thing.

"What are you?"

Dean allows himself a half smile. "It's me, Sammy."

"No. You are DEAD. You died. Died. He gutted you." His voice is breaking with emotion. He raises the knife. "What. Are. You?

Dean considers his brother's tear stained face, his reproach-filled eyes. At any other time in their lives, Dean would lie. Lie to protect Sammy from the pain, from the truth. Dean would lie. Sam would pretend to believe and tell lies of his own. They would continue to pay the way they always had-in blood.

Sam holds the knife, his hand shaking.

Dean is done paying. There is nothing left for them to take. A little voice, that same poisonous whisper he'd fought since taking the mark, assures him he now has the power to make everyone who'd ever hurt them pay instead.

"I'm a demon." The admission feels like dying all over again.

"No! You can't be possessed."

"I'm not." His own voice is now as shaky as Sam's. Dean feels his own tears spilling onto his cheeks. That he can still cry, still feel overwhelming sorrow and sympathy for his brother somehow surprises him. Though maybe it shouldn't. He had always said that they kept each other human.

They stare at each other as seconds become minutes. Stare at each other until Sam whispers, "Chirsto."

A flutter of pain travels up Dean's spine. Though he doesn't feel any different, he knows he must look it. Knows his eyes must be pitch black.

Sam's face twists in agony. "No!"

"It was the mark, Sam. The mark wasn't ready to die."

Sam screams, curses him for taking the deal, for never thinking about the consequences. He curses Crowley. Curses the angles. Curses God. Sam crumples to the ground safe in the confines of the devil's trap painted on the floor.

Dean isn't sure how much time passes. He gives up standing. His body aching and stiff demands he take a seat. He sits two feet away from his brother. That two feet may as well be two thousand. He can't do anything but wait.

"I can't do it, Dean. Please don't ask me." Sam looks up imploringly.

"Do what, Sammy?" He knows exactly what Sam means, but has to ask. He wants to hear Sam say it.

"I can't…kill you."

The words are balm on their frayed bond. A validation of everything Dean had spent a lifetime believing was true. What he had always believed. Deep down, in the places he never lets anyone into, he knew, even when Sam denied it, that his brother would do anything for him. Just like Dean had always done and would always do, for him.

Sam stands; Dean does as well. He moves out of the Devil's trap and Dean grabs him. Sam caves against his body.

"It's okay, Sammy." He breathes. "I'm finally done being ready to die."


End file.
